


waiting for the world to end

by goldtreesilvertree



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, Goddard Futuristics is a Fun Employer, I had a Very Boring Week and decided to write you all something Horrible, Kepcobi-ish, Lottie can write things on her own AND in canon!, Mind Control, set post-A Place For Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtreesilvertree/pseuds/goldtreesilvertree
Summary: Warren Kepler has never been a fan of waiting rooms. Sure, they’re more comfortable than cells, but both are only fun if you’re the one keeping people waiting, and cells lack… pretension. Then again, Cutter is nothing if not theatrical. The potted plants are a nice touch, as is the lack of (visible) guards. No need for aids to focus the mind. The isolation is more than helpful for that. As is the occasional scream.





	waiting for the world to end

Warren Kepler has never been a fan of waiting rooms. Sure, they’re more comfortable than cells, but both are only fun if you’re the one keeping people waiting, and cells lack… pretension. Then again, Cutter is nothing if not theatrical. The potted plants are a nice touch, as is the lack of (visible) guards. No need for aids to focus the mind. The isolation is more than helpful for that. As is the occasional scream.

It’s probably Minkowski. Almost _certainly_ Minkowski, unless they’ve started dissecting Lovelace early. It won’t be Jacobi. It _can’t_ be Jacobi. There would be no reason to torture him, they don’t know about his little coup yet. So he’s safe, probably. Their quick surrender and Kepler’s lie will have kept him as safe as anyone can be with Cutter and Pryce up here, and for some reason, that still matters. For some reason, that’s the only thing that matters. So when Cutter enters, smiling that horribly amiable smile, it doesn’t even really scare him. It should.

“Warren!” he greets him, holding out his hands as though greeting an old friend.

Kepler stands to attention immediately. “Sir.”

“Falling back into old formalities after all these years? I thought we were beyond that. Though after your abject failure here…” He tuts, like a disappointed parent. “You know, Ms Young is in favour of terminating all the loose ends this mission has left, but I had a better idea. After all, it would be remiss for us to ignore all the _good_ you’ve done for Goddard Futuristics in your time with us.”

This was… not what he was expecting. “Sir?”

“Oh, make no mistake, I’m _very_ disappointed in how this mission has gone, but there’s no need to be unnecessarily dramatic. With your previous record, a second chance isn’t out of the question.”

There’s a catch. There’s _always_ a catch. But… “A second chance was more than I expected, sir.”

Cutter’s smile widens. “Yet it’s exactly what you deserve. And today, I seem to be in the business of just desserts.” He pauses for long enough for a scream to echo through the wall, then draws out a bottle of amber liquid from behind his back. “So, a toast! To second chances!”

“To second chances,” he repeats, trying to ignore the sick twist in his stomach as Cutter pours him a drink. It’s not even _good,_ which is probably intentional on Cutter’s part. The cheapest off-the-shelf liquor money can buy, the kind that Jacobi loved in spite of- No. The type Jacobi _loves._ Thinking of him in the past tense means he’s already lost.

They toast. They drink. They are silent. And then Cutter smiles again.

“Well, now we’ve talked about _your_ new beginning, it’s time we talked about your second-in-command. Don’t look at me like that, I know you’ve been just _dying_ to ask about what we’ve done with Mr Jacobi.”

“He… _is_ the only other survivor of the mutiny who continued to follow orders. Sir.” Put like that, it _can’t_ be read as a weakness. It’s a tactical decision, that’s all.

“Of course, of course,” Cutter says, anything but soothing, “But. A little bird told me the two of you have been having some difficulties recently. Alana’s accident seems to be weighing a little heavy, no?”

“I’m not sure what difficulties you could be referring to, sir,” he replies, as if Jacobi had never tried to hold Minkowski’s gun to his head. It doesn’t matter anymore. If he can get them both out of this… “Mr Jacobi’s conduct has been exemplary-“

“Oh, come now. We both know that’s not entirely true. Our little chat with Renée has given us plenty of information on that. But it seemed such a shame to let some petty squabbles break up such a good team! After all the good work you’ve done, too.” He shakes his head, and there is a pause, before he claps his hands. “But that’s nothing you have to worry about any more. Consider this a gift from us here at Goddard. For your second chance.”

He steps aside, and the door opens. Jacobi enters. He is unbound, unguarded, seemingly unharmed. And then he sees the void where his expression should be, and everything starts to make a horrible kind of sense.

“What did you do to him?” His own voice sounds distant to his own ears, almost disconnected from whatever part of him isn’t screaming. It’s probably better that way.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Just a little reprogramming, debugging, repairing some unfortunate errors and _voilà!_   The new and improved Daniel Jacobi. Tell me what you think! Isn’t he a doll?”

There are no words. There are no words. And yet Cutter’s watching him expectantly. “He…” The words tail off as his throat closes up.

“He’s _perfect_ now,” Cutter croons, caressing Jacobi’s cheek, “All those irritating little quirks, the drinking, the temper… Well, he was a broken man when you brought him in, and we can’t expect you to do your best work with faulty tools. So. We fixed him.” Cutter’s still looking expectant, and Kepler is still choking on a feeling he can’t describe. Eventually, when the novelty of watching him struggle wears off, he prompts him: “Aren’t you going to say thank you for your present, Warren?”

The words come. They are the wrong words. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What do you want, _sir?_   What will make you undo… this?”

Cutter smiles, “I think you misunderstand me, Warren. I promised you a second chance. I also promised to give you _exactly_ what you deserve. You’re welcome.”

The words seem to echo as he turns, leaves, closes the door behind him with a quiet _click._ Jacobi is still standing in front of him, but he – it – isn’t Jacobi anymore.

The systems hum. The screaming from outside continues. The universe quietly shatters. In this room, in this moment, none of that matters. So they wait, as outside, the world burns. It’s ironic, really. Jacobi would have appreciated that.

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so this was inspired mostly by a tweet from @vladysgoth and in part by my exile to No Internet Hell, because if I have to suffer, I'm dragging you all down with me. This is my first foray into Kepcobi without Ada's supervision, so let me know what you think! You probably know the drill already, but I will almost always respond to comments here or on Tumblr at lottiesnotebook.


End file.
